In a Sequester'd Churchyard: A Love Story

Our dear friend and/or enemy and/or god H-Peel was walking brusquely through St. John's Churchyard, located in the very old, very Puritan, and very spooky city of Providence beneath the tofu-colored light of a waxing gibbous moon.

Even though the moon was out, H-Peel could barely see ####, which filled him with a nagging sense of cosmic dread that was accentuated when he ended up actually stepping in dog #### while he was fumbling in an eldritch manner in the Stygian darkness. The cosmic horror became excruciating when he discovered that he could not scrape the turd off the soles of his beaten shoes because the marl was damp as a newt, to the point where said horror could be hosted by Carl Sagan. But he got over it when he realized that there was nothing to be afraid of in this graveyard, since everyone interred here was probably Anglican and wouldn't bother him with personal conversation outside of one-way letters.

H-Peel should've cone during the day with a picnic lunch so he could be goth as #### and pretend to feel the warmth of Poe's footprints against his tush, but he spoiled his appetite with toffee ice cream for breakfast and his guts felt bubbly with sugar and Listeria, so he skipped out on that opportunity.

Suddenly a raven perched up on a dilapidated headstone and croaked at H-Peel seductively. It scared the hell out of him, which had not happened since he completed since he endured the cosmic jump scares of the latest spooky blockbuster thriller.

The raven spake, "Suhh dude, nevermore, and all that."

The astronomical terror hit him like a rejection from Weird Tales. He took out his Tracphone and recorded this weird little talking dinosaur.

"I implore you, Mr. Raven, to tell me wtf enables you to speak so eloquently?"

"The very dank literary devices of personification and allegory, my spooky mofo. Nevermore."

"I wonder what Sonia would say about this if she were here. I miss her."

"NOW I AIN'T SAYIN' SHE A GOLD DIGGA NEVERMORE."

"Now now, Mr. Raven. She might be a Jew, but she's still my ex-wife, so don't be a cock about her."

"Indeed I am a male bird my dude. Nevermore. But I have a surprise for you."

The raven spread it's wings and transformed into EDGAR ALLAN POE, OTHERWISE KNOWN AS ROGER CORMAN'S TOY. H-Peel couldn't believe his eyes and she'd tears of cosmic joy. He embraced the rabid drunk genius warmly and whispered into his ear:

"Poe... my Muse... I don't usually have these desires but I can't resist you. Let's enact the greatest scene in the play of Man. Plough my arse with your Conqueror Worm, bae!!"

Their Tell-tale hearts beat in unison somehow as they made sweet, spooky, intellectual, aesthetically satisfying love till the Old Ones awoke and destroyed the wold with transdimensional madness.

It would be the best #### he would receive until popular culture started dating him.

H. P. Is Lovecraft.

H. P. Is Lifecraft.